I know how to juggle. I’m no professional. Not even a gifted amateur. Just competent. I’m a better juggling teacher than I am a juggler. Because I learned this and learned it well- juggling is the art of throwing something the same way over and over again. That’s it. That’s the secret. You take one, ball, beanbag, bowling pin, chainsaw and toss it in an arc from one hand to the other. Once you have that down you trade hands. Once you have that down you take two, toss one from one hand to the other and when it is at its peak, toss the other one to the other hand. Then add one more. Easy. You master one little motion until that one little motion can be turned into something delightful.
So it is with writing. What looks utterly mystifying to the uninitiated is not in the least complicated. All you need to do is learn how to do one thing well, and then do it over and over. That one thing- speak truth from your heart. That’s it. That’s the secret. As a juggler you forget your hands and focus on the balls. As a writer you forget your audience and focus on what makes you you, what speaks to you, what is most precious to you, and then, in just the same way that it makes you, speaks to you and is most precious to you, share it. Share it like you were sharing it with yourself. Speak it as it speaks to you. This works for one simple reason- we are simple people. The message of the writer is, “I know you, because I know me, and we are the same.”
With both juggling and writing there are flourishes that bring joy to both the performer and the audience. I can toss behind my back. I can juggle inverted. But you know what I can’t do? Four. As a writer I can throw in a little paradoxical word play like Chesterton, a nugget of pinching the devil’s nose like Lewis, align an array of alliterations as agilely as anyone. But you know what I can’t do? Write a novel. The flourishes in either case are nice, little badges of progress, benchmarks of competency. But what they are not are changes in the fundamental nature of the thing in itself. Juggling is still juggling and writing is still writing.
One more important connection. I have juggled on stage. While in college I appeared in our production of Carnival! I was a circus performer. Because I could juggle. I could juggle, however, because I spent hours juggling all by myself. I taught myself to juggle by throwing balls into the air and trying to catch them, picking up the balls when I missed and starting over. I’ve written for publication. A dozen books of my own, another dozen I’ve contributed to, more magazine articles than a liberal arts major can count. I could write those, however, because I spent hours writing all by myself. I taught myself to write by writing poems, letters, stories, papers. And when I missed, I started over.
Do you want to write? Master this- speaking the truth from your heart. Let the flourishes come in their own time. Get started. And may you feel the Master’s pleasure.